by Andrew Iddon
Greg was used to seeing death, but not this much; the Imperium hadn’t suffered a defeat of this scale in nearly a hundred years. He took off his sweaty helmet, and set it down on the boxes in front of him. He stood up and walked towards the very upset Colonel, and asked him what they should do next.
“We have lost, Sergeant; we underestimated Richthofen; we never expected him to go this far”, the Colonel confessed.
“You knew about the Nazis?” replied Greg.
“Yes, we did; we knew he was around; we monitored him for several years. He started with a small group of white supremacists, racists and some Nazi fanatics. We thought he was just a cult leader, and a gang leader, not what he is now.
We didn’t know the military history he had experienced; he fought for the Federal Earth Conjugate, and became a General within five years. He was psychotic; how he managed to seize control of the New German government is beyond me. No one seemed to support him, so he got desperate. He started dipping his hands in some rather confidential and controversial technologies; he really showed an interest in cloning.
He became very aware of our agents and spies; he knew we were watching him, so, somehow, he went off the board completely, vanished within days. It has been six years since we last had a report of his presence, and just look at what he has achieved since then! How the hell could we have missed an army this size, where did he go? Where and when did he get all the money and resources to support this? This is a ridiculously large invasion; one the Imperium has never seen, not this big. We have to get our shit together. We need to abandon Nassau; it’s a lost cause.”
Greg stood there in shock. The Imperium was hiding things, things that could potentially jeopardize human and alien existence. The thought of his beloved Imperium, the force he believed in, and would serve until his death, knew about this Nazi bastard, but refused to do anything to stop him while he was weak.
Greg struggled to hide his anger, as he reluctantly agreed; they had to leave, and soon, before the Nazi fleet blockaded the planet completely.
The order was made; a radio message that looped every time it was finished, “Attention all Imperial personnel! Nassau has been surrendered to the enemy. You must get to the nearest evacuation point, and regroup with the fleet in orbit. There are Imperial drop ships at all instructed evacuation points. I repeat. All Imperial personnel are to retreat, and regroup with the fleet immediately.”
Greg, Carlin, and any nearby surviving troops made their way across the base, carrying what equipment and survivors they could get their hands on, scurrying across the orange sand of the plateau overlooking the base.
The Imperium drop ships awaited them; their crews already prepping them for quick and immediate take off. Four hundred Imperium soldiers, including Greg and Carlin, all entered, and settled inside them.
After a few minutes for loading equipment and wounded, the small fleet of drop ships all levitated at once, and began to head for the sky; forty drop ships all flew in unison to escape the carnage below.
The Nazi fleet caught on; they began to turn around, and open fire upon the small transport fleet. The Imperials were defenceless; without fighters to escort them, they were sitting ducks.
Many ships were blown from existence. The remains of burning metal and bloodied body parts rained upon the surface below, as the transports began to hit through the atmosphere.
Greg sat there, being tossed around in his harness from the rough flight, and explosions of projectiles nearby. He closed his eyes, trying to drown out the moaning sounds of wounded, and explosions of nearby drop ships.
He tried to picture nice things, happy times, anything to distract him from the horrors around him. His mind raced until it came to a stop on one subject, and Greg yelled to himself his realization, “Father!”
The drop ships finally escaped, and were now in high orbit above Nassau, which shrank smaller and smaller as they sped in the opposite direction. Greg was sure his father was alright, and he would find him again.
CHAPTER 12
Greg now found himself among his comrades, no longer in the comfortable safety of the Skullz; he was back with his real friends. He looked around at the scared, sweaty faces of the men around him. They weren’t ready for this. They were rookies; they had never fought a real enemy before, just rebels or criminals.
An enemy this organized and strong was really going to give the Imperium something to worry about, and Greg needed to talk to the Emperor himself. The ships sped off towards Alpha sector, towards the Right Hand of God, where the Imperium was making good progress in preparing for the war.
The drop ships approached the main deck of the western port, starting to lower down on the nearest open spot; the Imperium Navy was getting rigged for flight. They set down, and everyone flooded out once the bay doors opened. They all scurried out like mice, calling for medics and repairs.
Greg and Carlin went straight for the Emperor’s throne room. They manoeuvred around the sprawling halls and rooms, making their way to the Golden Hall, where the Emperor’s throne and office were located. They entered the main lobby, leading to the grand golden doors of Victavius’s throne room. Elaborate sculpted markings and pictures covered the door’s surface, and the archway was decorated with a mural of all the Emperors past.
The large doors creaked loudly as they slowly parted, allowing passage for Greg and Carlin, who fixed themselves up, and walked in slowly. They approached the throne to see the Emperor was not there; they peeked into his office and saw him seated at his desk, rubbing his head. He had a very disturbed look on his face.
Colonel Carlin went up to the door, and cleared his throat. Victavius realized he had company, quickly fixed his uniform, and came into the throne room in a huff. He tucked his loose hair back; it had grown since Greg had last seen him. He figured he was too busy a man to keep groomed all the time.
Victavius walked up, and sat on his red velvet seat, overlooking the rest of the room which was quite empty, since there weren’t any meetings or parties at the time. He rested his chin on his fist, and leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair.
He finally was the first to speak, “If you have come to say, I told you so, you might as well clear off now.”
Greg knew that wasn’t why he was there, but after Victavius mentioned it, realized that he had every right to say it. Carlin then perked up, and spoke, “Highness, we both know this is our fault; we shouldn’t have let Richthofen gain power. He was a guinea pig to our experiments; we should have known he would get smart, and want revenge. He was full of too much hate. He wasn’t like the normal human supremacists we have seen before; he was their messiah.”
“You knew the risks, Colonel; we all knew the risks. Friedrich was destined for greatness; the Amarosian seer predicted it. Since we are humans, however, we never believe anything that we ourselves cannot do. Amarosians are the smartest aliens that we know of. You know how religious they are; we should have listened”, Victavius replied.
“If I may interject, I believe it is no one’s fault but his. It was his choice to become such an evil person. Maybe, if we knew about his history, we could see where he came from and why he is a Nazi supporter and leader”, Greg squeezed in.
“All we know is that he served in the Conjugate army several years, before being discharged. He was discharged for being intolerant, and for improper treatment of prisoners. When next we saw him, we began to study his behaviours. After studying him, he disappeared, and now, here he is, and he’s pissed”, replied Carlin.
“Why don’t we ask the Admiral then?”
The Emperor and Carlin paused, and stared at each other. Greg had a good idea. So Victavius led them to his communications room. They entered the large, very busy room, with dozens of androids and technicians, all on hologram or radio communicators, likely trying to sort out all the mayday calls from the victims of the Nazi Bl
itzkrieg.
Victavius walked up to a large central hologram communicator, punched in a few numbers, and asked the hologram droid to locate the code for the Federal Earth Conjugate flagship. After several seconds of random file and number pop-ups, the image of the hologram droid appeared.
She said, “Communication link established between Imperium Contact HQ and Federal Earth Conjugate flagship, The Tsar.”
The image of a minimized man appeared, wearing similar clothing to that of the Nazi leader, just a different colour and design. He stood proud, his head high, with strong posture, a Russian peaked cap resting on his bald head. He had an older, gruff looking face, strong jaunt features—dark brown eyes, with a few scars scattered across his head. He looked around the room he was communicating with, and Victavius began, “Admiral Gerard Fedorov, I am Emperor Argon Victavius, and I seek information regarding the recent troubles plaguing the entirety of space.”
“I know why you have contacted me, good Emperor, but I refuse to partake in violence with our fascist German cousins. My FEC and I shall remain neutral during this endeavour, but would like to continue our trade and economy agreements”, Fedorov replied.
“No Admiral, that’s not why we are seeking audience with you today. The main reason I’m speaking to you is I would like to know about Friedrich von Richthofen, who, to our knowledge, used to serve you in the FEC”, Carlin interrupted.
The Admiral paused, starting to recollect the past. He then gave a look as if he remembered, and said, “I did not think about that. Yes indeed, Richthofen served under me quite zealously as I remember. It was common for Germans to serve Russia in the Conjugate army. He wasn’t the most understanding and merciful of individuals; his methods and tactics were quite brutal and messy at times. I enjoyed his enthusiasm for death, but I believe it was your cursed Imperium who demanded that he be discharged, and banished from the FEC for his uncouth behaviour. So, in a sense, you unleashed this beast. He and I have already spoken, and agreed, no blood shall be shed between a Nazi and Conjugate follower. No arms should be raised between us; and, in exchange, the FEC lives. The Imperium, however, will not see the month’s end.”
The men stared at each other, then back at the Admiral, pondering what was to be done at this point; a potential ally was out of the picture.
The Admiral then continued, “Also, if you’re expecting me to tell you specific intelligence as to Friedrich’s past, then you are out of luck, for nobody knows. He showed up in boot camp one day, from my knowledge, and then became a very strong follower, rising through the ranks quickly. I would honestly like to help you further. However, I cannot. This Chancellor is a mystery in his own right.
It was quite long ago when he was discharged for poor treatment of prisoners, especially aliens. He was always rather intolerant of people and aliens different than him, but it was common with soldiers and officers to have distaste for aliens. We did not realize he would have this much influence on his fellow soldiers, enough to come into the power he has.”
Greg thought of a final question, and then asked, “Did he wear the mask when he was in your army?”
The Admiral stopped, and thought; it was a very good question, but he couldn’t quite find the answer.
After a long silence, he spoke, “To my knowledge he did not have the mask he currently wears, but he always had something covering his face. I believe he was recruited with some sort of makeshift armor mask of some kind. That is a good question, my friend, but I’m afraid I cannot tell you, and will not be able to tell you more. His spies could be anywhere. I may be in jeopardy for telling you what I have so far. I bid you farewell, good Emperor.”
His hologram began to shudder and buzz, and then vanished.
The group began to think to themselves; they had no leads, no evidence. They had nothing to identify this man, who he really was, and what his purpose was. Carlin began to think to himself. He then came up with an idea that might work; back when they originally spied on Richthofen, they used an Amarosian seer, so maybe the same seer could tell them the answers they sought.
“My Lord, perhaps we should seek the help of the Amarosians? They predicted Richthofen’s destiny so perhaps they can lend us some wisdom as well,” suggested Carlin.
“It would never work, the Amarosians hate us. They will never accept me or the Imperium after what my father did to them,” replied Victavius.
“It is worth a try your highness,” said Greg.
“Very well perhaps you’re right. We need to use whatever help we can get our hands on. Sergeant, Colonel, take whatever supplies or vessels you need and head to Heilagur. See the Amarosian Patriarch and plead for his help. I don’t expect them to give you a warm welcome but maybe they will see in their hearts to help us,” ordered Victavius.
CHAPTER 13
Meanwhile, high in orbit above his newest prize, Nuevo Mundo, the Chancellor of New Germany stood gazing through the window of his flagship, The Iron Cross. He stared at the destruction below, his massive fleets spreading like disease, his new empire being forged. He began to pace across his office, thinking of new ways to kill, new ways to destroy. He came to a stop when he looked at his strategy map; killing impure humans and aliens across planets was not enough. He would need supplies; he might not be able to afford such a massive army.
He called in his Reichsfuhrer of the SS, General Aloysius Lieterhoffen, who entered his office, and tapped his chest, then shot his arm straight, pointing towards the sky, a traditional Nazi salute.
Friedrich nodded, and then lead him towards the map. He pointed at one of the blank spots on the surface, and his dark German voice sounded, “Here, Aloysius, this shall be the positioning of the camps.”
“What camps, mien fuhrer?” Lieterhoffen replied.
“Many years ago, before the expansion into space, my ancestors, the third Reich, decided to use the impure and the filth, being the sub-humans, to work for them. Instead of paying money for factories and workers, we enslaved those we sought to destroy, and it paid off. Before, their workers were escaping, and the guards were becoming weak, and generous. If these concentration camps, as they were called, are to work now, I must use my new, most trusted soldiers to guard them. Bring out the SS Elites, General.”
Aloysius saluted once more, and then spoke into his radio; moments later, three soldiers entered the room. Richthofen looked at them through his black metal mask, and sighed in satisfaction; there, standing in front of him, was the future of his war.
Three identical men, clad in similar armor to the regular infantry, stood there at attention, not flinching a bit. They were very tall; and they had larger suits, with mechanical joints, to maintain all attributes, and increase size, for intimidation. They had the same Nazi party armband on their left arms, but, in the place of a regiment number, were two razor white SS letters. Their helmets were similar in shape and design as the normal ones; however, instead of two glowing red eyes, was a solid red dome visor, with black outlines, and dividers covering the entirety of the front and top of the head, past the crown of the skull. There were then solid black plates covering the ears and jaw, with the back of the head connecting with the earpiece.
These were the best of the best—the elite guard to Richthofen himself; and he stood there, basking in their glory. The only problem was, they weren’t born human; they were artificially created in a lab.
Friedrich stood staring at an SS Elite through his terrifying mask, using its interior scanning systems to get the basic schematics of the soldier and his equipment. Richthofen’s mask was extremely advanced, able to change through different visions like infrared and ultraviolet, enabling him a superior advantage when hunting his foes. It was able to detect mines, scan and document schematics or blueprints off almost any vehicle, weapon or armor, allowing him to learn the weaknesses of his enemies. His mask was even able to detect emotional patterns and behaviours; g
iving him the ability to see if the person he was talking to was lying or nervous. He had all the necessary equipment that an evil dictator would need in order to preserve his dominance, and his safety. He could tell his loyal subjects from his betrayers, and scan for snipers, looking to end him from afar, or poison, to end him up close. All of his advantages made him feel safe, and made him feel strong and brave enough to continue with his life’s work—what he believed was his destiny.
He instructed the general to initiate the immediate construction of the new concentration camps on all of their newly conquered planets, and to put any surviving aliens or hostile forces in them, without delay or mercy.
Aloysius saluted again, and hurried towards the ship’s Comm room in order to start completing his duties. Richthofen, however, stayed in his office, staring back out the window towards his next target. He was staring far into the vastness of space, towards the next milestone in his military career, the Imperium quadrant sector control platform, one of the five impenetrable floating fortresses.
CHAPTER 14
Back on the Right Hand of God Greg’s team of soldiers and supporters, prepared the journey through Gamma sector to the Amarosian capitol planet, Heilagur. They boarded Imperial transports, made up a small ragtag fleet of around three ships, and began their mission.
Greg sat aboard the small flagship with only a minor detachment of his men, and his friend, Colonel Carlin. He never did quite get used to it; he still felt nauseous every time he finished the jump to hyperspace. He tried to brace himself as much as he could every time, but no matter what he did, he always got sick. His peers always made fun of him for it, always teased and hooted, making bets on the time he would finally vomit. Greg laughed to himself at the memory of the times he tried so hard to resist puking, but always ended up failing worse than he would if he hadn’t tried to resist.